My life is a series of awkward events strung together

Every family has a variety of personality types that makes each member special and the family flow together. There’s usually the responsible one, the smart one, the fun one, etc. I happen to be the black sheep.

Being the oldest (and most obnoxious) child I’ve taken to paving my own path. I know my family loves me more than words, how could they not? They are always proud of all my accomplishments and the strongest support system I have. Equally, they are also easily embarrassed by my daily hot mess.

We travel to Upper Michigan for almost every holiday and many weekends to be with our extended family. I usually drag myself out of bed when everyone else is packing up the car. Wearing the same outfit I slept in I take my place in the back. It’s an unwritten rule that if I don’t shower I’m forced to the back seat. This I’m fine with, I prefer my legs up on the seat so my feet can dangle next to Nick’s face or propped up on the ceiling of the car. They like when I sleep, I like when I sing.

We pull out of the driveway and I panic, my sunglasses are still in my car. My mom and brother collectively groan. I ask if they’d rather that I complain the entire four hour ride about how sunny it is. We go back for my glasses. There’s too many buckles in my shoes to fully put them on so I slowly shuffle/slide my way to fetch the glasses.

I usually insist on going out of our way to stop for Starbucks, they always make me wait in the car. I also like to stop for ice cream along the way.

Today I caused a scene about Pringles. I needed them. Who doesn’t crave Pringles at noon on Sunday? This is how it went:

After everyone for back in the car from a quick pit stop I decided I needed Pringles. I had no cash and no shoes on. While I was trying to buckle all 4 buckles on my trendy gladiators my mom was fishing out cash and telling us we were getting cut off from all funds. My brother was telling me I’m pregnant because only pregnant women have salty/sweet cravings like I do. False, I chase the salty/sweet combo everyday in my life. When I go into the gas station, looking a mess, I cannot find any Pringles. Most people would just settle for something else. Not me, I’m on a mission. I ask the gas station attendant if he knows where the Pringles are. There is only 1 small can of barbeque flavor. I really want regular. Decision time. I made a rational choice, buy both the Pringles and the Lay’s original flavored stackers. A girl likes options. My family is not impressed with my buffet of chips. Im not impressed with the Lay’s Stackers. Not long after we leave I have to pee. We have a conversation of how I need to train my body to pee when I have the opportunity. It’s weird.

We’re listening to Miley Cyrus. I’m singing.

Once we get into town our first stop is my grandma’s house. What is the first thing she says to me? “You look drunk.” Can’t a girl just be tired?

I’ve come to accept the reality that I am the black sheep. At least I clean up well.

If you think this is just a one time thing after a weekend of partying at back to back weddings you are mistaken. I am the token hot mess of the family. Just ask anyone of them, they’d vouch for that in a heartbeat.

As both a lover of big cities and not having to drive myself anywhere I’ve found that I fancy a cab ride as my transportation of choice. I’ve also found that one thing all cab drivers share is having a fear factor of zero. No matter the city, cab drivers everywhere are not concerned with things like car accidents, hitting pedestrians, and police officers like the average driver is.

To further emphasize my point I will compare these fearless cabbies with my own horrible driving.

When I’m driving I abide to the four colors on a stop light. Green: go. Just turned yellow: go quickly. Yellow/orange: slam on my breaks or fly through, depending on circumstance. Red: stop. Cab drivers on the other hand really only see 1.5 colors. Green/yellow/red: go (that red light wasn’t for me.) Red: slam on the breaks, speed off.

I reserve my horn for the most extreme circumstances: we’re 2.5 seconds away from a car accident, I’m going to miss the newest “Keeping Up With the Kardashian” episode if the person in front of me doesn’t put the pedal to the metal, and if I see my friend. Cabbies are much more liberal with their horn usage. Someone is only going 10 miles over the speed limit, too slow, honk. “No right turn on red” sign, not for a cabbie, honk. It’s been 30 seconds since the latest honk, honk. The just for fun honks are my favorite.

On the other hand, I use my turn signal like it’s a drug. Even when veering to to the side of the road to get the mail is reason for a turn signal. Overkill? I think not. I’m positive taxis aren’t even built with turn signals.

I also think that bike lanes and sidewalks should be reserved for those on bike or foot. Taxi drivers are certain that is actually a cab only lane. No need to slow down and let the biker on their marry way, just throw the horn at them.

Seeing a police car puts the fear of death in me. I could be parked and still worry I’m about to get a speeding ticket. Cab drivers just speed up and zoom around a cop. All the while my heart is pounding in the back.

If another car gets too close to me or I get to close to it I am near cardiac arrest. Thoughts of whip lash, airbags, death, and higher auto insurance flash before my eyes. If another car pulls out in front of a cab the driver doesn’t so much as flinch. How can they be that calm and collected while simultaneously listening to the radio and talking on their phone in another language???

I used to pride myself on my directional prowess. Since becoming GPS dependent I’ve now gotten on the highway the wrong way 3 times in 2 weeks in my hometown and get lost on city streets more often than Justin Bieber is played on the radio. Cab drivers are never lost. I honestly think I could make up an address and they would take me there. I could never be a cab driver since being a directional savant is clearly one of the requirements.

The working hours is another thing I could never do. Most cab drivers do 12 hour shifts usually starting between 4-6. No way could I drive around in a car for that many hours.

It’s clear to me that I’m as far on the opposite end of the spectrum as most cab drivers. I’m a timid, accident prone driver who is only fluent in one language. I would simply never do.

I’m thankful for the wild cab drivers who stare death in the face daily to get people where they need to be in half of the time it should take, especially you Bernard, my favorite Chicago cabbie.

Tonight I had the pleasure of dining with an entertaining crowd. At our table sat myself, fresh from Zumba. Not only had my make-up sweat off and my hair looked like a beehive in a pony tail, but also I’m sure I smelt like a bed of roses after that hour workout in a sweat box. I was joined by my grandmother and her sister and brother-in-law who had just flown in from Florida.

Which one of the fine establishments was chosen for our dinner? Perkins, of course. I was comforted by the parking lot full of mini vans when I pulled in that at least the chances of me running into anyone I knew was slim to none.

When I entered I gave my grandma a hug and said hi to Verna and Wes, who I had not seen in a handful of years. The first clue that this was going to be more than just an average dinner is when Wes said “Boy, you know everyone in town,” to my grandma. When she told him that I was her granddaughter, he said “Wow, how did you know she was here?”

I told Wes she had called me and we’d arranged to meet. Wes’s response: “You have phone service here?!?! Dear, see if our phone has any life here.”

Ohhh brother.

When I glanced up from my menu I saw Wes blowing his straw wrapper at his wife. It was then I knew it was true, whether you’re 8 or 83, straw blowing never gets old.

The topics of conversation were as follows:

Wes and Verna flew in to attend FinnFest, where all of the Finnish will unite.

Wes and Verna recently drove their car into a flood. Apparently, they had not realized what was happening until their Ford Taurus Station Wagon was floating in 2 feet of water. Wes got out of the car and it was up to his knees. It took two weeks to sponge/blow dry the water out.

The table was sticky, Wes announced “I never would have come here if I knew it was going to be like this.”

Wes asked what dressing came on his meal. The waitress said he could order whatever he wanted, he ordered carrots.

Wes and Verna were talking about someone they know who does drugs. They were trying to figure out which drug test you could fake, a hair test or a blood test. They kept expecting me to know the answer.

They asked me what I did this weekend, I told them I went on a brewery tour. Everyone was impressed.

Verna’s iphone rang, the number was “0000000.” That was weird.

I can only hope when I get in my 80’s I’m as entertaining as this crew. How can I top this tomorrow? Luckily, my other set of grandparent’s will be in town.

A few days ago I felt like my dog had been recently neglecting me in favor of everyone else. What better to do than force him to sleep in my room–who doesn’t want a precious puppy dog snuggling in their bed?

Biggest mistake of my life.

This is how traumatic the rest of my night was:

11:12pm- Drag Kirby downstairs to my room.

11:14pm- I can hear Kirby frantically trying to dig a hole in my blankets in order to get them to lay just right.

11:16pm- I come back from washing my face and brushing my teeth to this.

11:17pm- Attempt to move the 71 lb diva dog off of his perfect blanket arrangement.

11:18pm- Kirby gives me a sleepy yet threatening growl-moan.

11:19pm- After more pushing and pulling my blankets are free. My pillows are not.

11:20pm- He is out cold/ has selective hearing. He will not move.

11:21pm- We have a conversation. I explain that if he’s going to act like a human and sleep in a human bed, he at least has to lay like a human.

11:22pm- He rolls over and there is a moment of peace.

11:23pm- I’m annoyed because I’ve missed my 8 hour window of sleep.

11:24pm- Kirby farts.

11:25pm- Kirby rotates 90 degrees, pushing his rear further into me. I try to push him away. He kicks me.

11:26pm- Kirby further rotates, now positioning his rear on my pillow.

11:27pm- Kirby has a puppy dream. He’s running in place and whimpering.

11:30pm- The dream subsides. He farts again.

11:31pm- We have another conversation about sleeping like a decent human being.

11:33pm- I muster up all my strength and push him to the end of my bed. I cannot move my feet but its the best compromise thus far.

11:34pm- I make a mental note to use bigger weights at Zumba. My dog should not be stronger than I.

11:35pm- We sleep.

1:14am- Kirby awakes in a panic. Where is his mom?!?! He freaks out. What if she were to leave without him and he had to miss day care the next day?

1:15am- He jumps off my bed and paws at my door.

1:16am- He’s crying, pawing, crying. Then he lays down and sighs.

1:17am- He’s back at his fit of rage. Please God let him out.

1:18am- I drag myself out of bed to open the door. He dashes out faster than lightening.

1:19am- I hear him take the stairs at the speed of light.

1:19:30am- Everyone is happy and sleeping.

6:03am- Kirby is now crying on the other side of my door. He would like to get in.

6:04am- I pray he goes back to bed

6:05am- I hear him sniffing my door. This is no ordinary sniff, It is a very long, dramatic sniff from top to bottom and left to right. He knows I’m here.

6:06am- He’s knocking/scratching on my door. Determination.

6:07am- Crying.

6:08am- I once again drag myself out of bed, open the door.

6:09am- We’re back in bed, Kirby at my feet, me drifting back to the last few minutes of peace.

6:11am- Kirby hops off my bed. One swift lick to my face. I’m caught off guard as I fell back asleep.

6:11:30am- Kirby leaves.

I swear to myself I will not do this again. But I know that I will, his puppy eyes can melt any heart. The solution? Perhaps a larger bed.

Today I had three things on my agenda: go to the gym, lay out, and drink margaritas. (As I type this I shudder at the fact that I also did laundry, GTL anyone? I’m not planning a move to the Jersey Shore, I swear.)

Only one thing got in my way–Kirby.

I just felt bad for his little dog face when I came home from my weekend away and thought how much he probably wanted to hang out with me. For a brief second I thought about ditching the gym and talking my dog on a run like most people would do. Then, I had a vision of all the reasons that would be a terrible idea.

Kirby isn’t exactly one of those dogs that’s down for a jog on someone else’s terms. If he’s tired he’ll simply lay on the ground, Lord knows I couldn’t lug his 71.5 lbs of dog back home if he pooped out. Speaking of poop, he poops a lot. What would I do if he pooped on our run? Pass.

The last time we went on a walk we got to where he felt was the end, halted, barked at me with one sharp woof, and took off running with his leash in his mouth, dragging me along. I wasn’t ready for that embarrassment again.

After that, walking Kirby didn’t seem like the best idea so to the gym I went. When I got home I thought I could sit on the patio and unleash my inner sun-goddess while Kirby and his friend Reddick, who were dog sitting for, could play around in the woods. If you know Kirby you know that a casual afternoon laying out is not in the cards.

At first he was just tossing sticks in the air and entertaining himself, then the jingle of his dog tags disappeared and I knew he was into trouble. Where was the diva dog? He helped himself to an afternoon swim in the river below the woods. Finally, he came back soaking wet and covered in mud–perfect. The slight guilt of not taking him on a walk crept up on me and I thought I should be a good sister and take him back down for a supervised swim.

Now, I am hiking down the giant hill in the middle of the woods wearing a bikini and tennis shoes, thank God we don’t have neighbors. Kirby splashes in, a perfect belly flop, and awaits my awful attempt at stick throwing. There was one tree growing sideways out of the earth and into the river. No stick is too big for Kirby to tackle so he went to town trying to pull it out of the water. Eventually, he gives up and decides it would be better if he could just walk on it back to shore. It turns out that dogs cannot in fact tight rope walk on a stick. Several attempts later we’re climbing back up the hill.

Kirby is sick of my weak game of fetch. Oddly enough I don’t want to wrestle him for the muddy stick his mouth has been slobbering over so I can continue to throw it again and again. But who’s the boss really? Certainly not me. If I’m not throwing the stick fast enough Kirby will body slam me, his front paws on my chest. I’m now covered in mud, dog drool, and scratches from all of the sticks. If this isn’t a relaxing day in the sun then I don’t know what is.

I cannot make up how bossy my dog is, my life truly is this embarrassing. Tomorrow we’ll be back to reality. Me at work, Kirby at day care. Then he’ll be back to ruining my life, one demanding bark and sneaky smile at a time.

Never was it so easy to get a phone number as it was in middle school. To all of my friends who are searching for new date prospects: get old school. Don’t you remember handing your yearbook to someone and ending up getting their digits, easy as pie.

A few days ago I took a walk down memory lane and read some of the comments that my friends and classmates scribbled into the cover pages. As sixth graders and new texters we even wrote things in abbreviation, ahem “gr8” and “H.a.g.s.” and if you didn’t sign in a gel pen then you were nobody. As seventh graders, everyone still used gel pen and wished for a “gr8 summer” but we upgraded from to “H.a.k.a.s.”

It should be no surprise to anyone that I lead an extremely awkward life. For your enjoyment I’ve compiled a list of things in my own life, or that I’ve observed in the lives of my friends, family, or innocent bystanders that are already awkward, but are made increasingly worse.

1. It’s awkward when you’re in a crowded, sweaty elevator at the gym. It’s more awkward when the middle aged woman is telling her friend about the lingerie she bought on the phone.

2. It’s awkward when your grandma is your friend on Facebook. It’s more awkward when she comments “where is this?” on every photo, followed with “love ya.” Every. Post.

3. It’s awkward when you have to drive a rental car (okay sometimes it’s cool.) it’s more awkward when the only one available is a mini van.

4. It’s awkward when the cops show up. It’s more awkward when you’re on a first name basis with them.

5. It’s awkward when your parents see your friends out at the bar. It’s more awkward when your parents don’t know if they should call them by their real name or your name since they used your ID to get in.

6. It’s awkward when someone asks you on a date and you don’t want to go. It’s more awkward when you go, and bring your friends.

7. It’s awkward to be trapped in a hospital for days. It’s more awkward when the doctor finally comes to see you and you have a mask on your face. Wrinkles don’t stop just because your sick.

8. It’s awkward when you have a bad hair day. It’s more awkward when you have a bad hair day because your little brother did it.

9. It’s awkward when your dad owns jorts. It’s more awkward when he wears them in public.

10. It’s awkward to walk your dog if he’s bad at going on walks. It’s more awkward if your dog walks you, with the leash in his mouth, and your being dragged behind.

11. It’s awkward when you text the wrong person. It’s more awkward when you text the wrong person, and the text was about them.

12. It’s awkward when you’re on the beach with your grandparents. It’s more awkward when you have to sit between them on the airplane because of a dispute over a bottle of Kahlua.

13. It’s awkward when your parents post random things on Facebook. It’s more awkward when you ask them about it and they say “I was trying to send a text but I guess I text Facebook instead.”

14. It’s awkward when you get caught on the rain. It’s more awkward when you were wearing a white cotton dress and hot pink unmentionables.

15. It’s awkward when you get pulled over for speeding. It’s more awkward when you’re only wearing a bikini.

16. It’s awkward when someone says “when are we going to start drinking on class?” It’s more awkward when you already have been the whole semester.

17. It’s awkward when you tell your professor you write most of your papers while drinking. It’s more awkward when he tells you he grades them while drinking.

19. It’s awkward when someone says “I thought you were going to shower.” It’s more awkward when you did in fact take a shower.

20. It’s awkward when you’re locked out of the house. It’s even more awkward when you pee outside the house because you’re locked out.

21. It’s awkward when you tell your sister you and your friends need a ride home from the restaurant, at 7:00 on a Wednesday, but that you’ll set her up with your cute server. It’s more awkward when she gets there and it’s her ex boyfriend.

22. It’s awkward when you schedule time to FaceTime your dog. It’s more awkward when he’s too busy.

23. It’s awkward to be in the library when you have no homework. It’s more awkward when you play music to occupy yourself but your headphones weren’t plugged in.

24. It’s awkward when you see an old woman, leaning against the mirror, naked, blow drying her hair at the gym. It’s more awkward when you think “that’s going to be me when I’m elderly.”

25. It’s awkward when you yell at the cab driver that he’s going the wrong way the whole ride. It’s more awkward when your friends video tape it, and he was going the right way.